Their Wings
by FireBankai7
Summary: Takes place two years after end of FANG. Fang and Dylan have just found out that the rest of the flock is dead - or are they? With Max gone Fang is out to get revenge. What will he do? Will the rest of the flock come back? ACTION, ADVENTURE, HUMOR, & FAX!
1. Chapter 1: Guilt

**Okay people, so this is my first ever fanfic so it's probably REALLY REALLY sucky…but like I said it's my first ever fanfic so just give me a break here okay? The benefit of the doubt, a second chance, or whatever. And oh yeah, so although it's really annoying to have to state the obvious, since you definitely know already, I don't own Maximum Ride (Much as I wish I did, I DON'T wanna be James Patterson, no offense or anything. I mean, he writes great books and all. But, just, well, for one thing, I'm a girl. Anywayz, let's not get into it.)**

**Oh, and a WARNING to anyone who actually reads these author's notes, there is some swearing in here, and probably will be some romance eventually, although nothing in ch. 1.**

**Oh yeah, and just so u know, this story takes place two years after the end of FANG.**

**Anyway, here goes…hope ya like it.**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter 1: Guilt**

Fang crouched on a ledge at the top of the cliff, his head in his hands, as the hawks swerved and dived above him. God, he wanted to die. The guilt…so much crushing guilt. Guilt at letting them die. Iggy, Nudge, Angel, Gazzy…and Max. _Max. _They were dead. And it was his fault, all his fault. He should've been there to protect them. To at least be there for them. To be there for her.

He'd told her that he would never leave her. That he'd always be there for her. God, he couldn't bear the pain. _Oh, Max._ She couldn't be dead. He thought of her, her hair the color of dark chocolate, her eyes like deep brown pools, the way she kicked ass, the way she laughed, the way she got mad, the way she slept, and the way she had led them, through thick and thin, for all these years. He had no reason to live…now that she was dead.

He crouched on the ledge just outside the cave where they had first met the hawks. When he had first found out that they were dead, all he could think of had been the last promise he'd made to her before he left: _Sweetie, if in twenty years we haven't expired yet, and the world is still more or less in one piece, I'll meet you at the top of that cliff where we first met the hawks and learned to fly with them. You know the one. Twenty years from today, if I'm still alive, I'll be there waiting for you._

Twenty years…twenty years…if only he hadn't been such a fool! If only he had listened to her, stayed with her. Oh, what he would give to have known back then that they didn't _have _twenty years! If only he had known. He would never have left her.

When Dylan – damn him – had appeared where Fang was holed up at the time and told him that, despite Fang leaving, the flock had been caught and being used for experiments, Fang had jumped up. Screw leaving! He had to save the flock!

They had broken in to the institute, with Fang all hyped up (Fang? Hyped up? Quite an achievement.) and ready to barge in and do anything to rescue Max, only to hear those fateful words… Over and over in his head, he played the conversation that had stopped his heart from beating.

"And the Formula 49 test subjects?"

"All failures."

"Indeed? So the Maximum Ride kids are dead?"

_No, no. God, no. It couldn't be…_

"Oh, yes. Jeb Batchelder will be disappointed."

And then the two [insert all the swear words you can think of here] scientists had laughed. _Laughed. _Fang had completely lost it. If Dylan hadn't been holding him back, the Institute for Higher Living would have had to replace a couple of their lower-life-form employees.

Dylan. Fang had hated that guy for so long. Hated him for butting in, interfering with the flock. And hated him, most of all, for stealing his Max. But now, Fang felt like nothing in front of him. He felt unworthy and ashamed. Dylan had been there for Max when he hadn't. Had stuck with her, when he hadn't. Much as it hurt him to admit it, Dylan deserved Max more than he did. But now, neither of them could have her. Max was dead.

_Max was dead. _With Max dead, Fang had just wanted to be alone. The only person he had truly wanted to be with was Max, and she was the one he couldn't have. She was never coming back. Fang had shaken off Dylan and just…taken off. Literally. Wings and all.

He flew aimlessly for what felt like hours, until he'd suddenly found himself here on the cliff. Where he and Nudge had first flown with the hawks. Where Max had turned up after being missing for days, looking more beat-up than ever, and he had first realized how he felt about her. Where he had promised, _promised _to meet her, his only love, twenty years later, if he was still alive. Funny, he had never considered that _she _wouldn't be alive. She was the center of the universe for him. He couldn't have imagined her dead. Until now.

He wasn't sure why he had ended up at the cliff. Maybe because it held some of his best memories of Max. Maybe because it was what had been his only comfort for two years, since he had left the flock. His only consolation: that this was where he would see Max again. To hold her, touch her, feel her lips on his. And now, even that had been taken away from him.

A strong wind blew across the cliff face. Fang straightened up. Now that Max was dead, there was only one thing left for him to do. Only one reason for him to live. He wouldn't let them get away with killing Max. With killing his flock. He wanted those bastards dead. Yeah, he had a goal now, and he would achieve it if it was the last thing he did. He would get revenge.

**So, whaddaya think? Good? Bad? Okay? Totally pathetic? Come on, review, tell me. I can take it. I mean, so long as you review, it means ppl are at least READING my story, right? And to those of you who know me who are reading this (honestly, I'm not really sure why I bothered typing this, because if I know you chances are I'm leaning over your shoulder right now, forcing you at knife-point – better yet, **_**ninja**_**-knife-point – to read it…), even though it was probably so bad it was all you could do not to just press the little red X button and be done with it, when you review (I'm assuming you WILL review because you're just such a generous person and it's time you did your good deed of the day anyway, right?) when you review, don't just chew me out (even though that's all I deserve), tell me what it was about it that made it suck so bad, so I (hopefully) won't make the same mistake again. **

**Oh, and did u know, after you press the review button, u get a chance to win a FREE BLACKBERRY? **

**Nah, just kidding, sorry. But press it anyway okay? **


	2. Chapter 2: Life, and Death

**Okay, people, so here's chapter 2. I spent all of Friday night writing this, then typed it up on Saturday morning. Then I printed it out and read it over on Saturday afternoon, and typed the final draft at like eight o'clock that night. **

**Honestly, I wasn't sure if I should wait until next Thursday to post it, as I'd originally planned, or just post it as soon as it was written, as CERTAIN PEOPLE *cough cough* wanted me to. But I've never been too good at keeping people in suspense, and I finally caved to the pestering of the said certain people (You know who I'm talking about! I know you're reading this!) and posted this early. Well, actually it was mostly one person, but to respect her privacy we'll just call her She-who-must-not-be-named (not to be confused with the male version, a.k.a. Voldemort). Many thanks to Sheah (She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for short. Hey, it could be her real name, you'll never know…and it was **_**her **_**idea, so don't blame me if you don't like it), who helped me a lot on Sunday morning when I typed the final draft for this story, by distracting me the entire time with random comments, harsh insults to the story, the promise of hot chocolate if I hurried up, unfounded accusations that I refuse to elaborate on, completely irrelevant questions involving icicles, a cat, and a very cute guy (don't ask), and most of all, her leaning over both my shoulders the whole time, reading as I typed it.**

**Me: Yeah, I'm posting it early, so you owe me one, Sheah! **

**Sheah: Okay, okay, thanks soooo much! I'm totally grateful!**

**Me: You better be! Now do the disclaiming or wutever to show how grateful you are.**

**Sheah: Uh, okay…so, she doesn't own Maximum Ride. No, not even Fang. Except I have reason to believe that she does have some claim over his body– **

**Me *whacks Sheah with my fanfic notebook*: Hey, you, cut it out! Or I won't post Chapter Two after all!**

**Sheah: Haha, too late. I already read it.**

**Me: Darn. So I lost my most potent weapon.**

**Sheah: Yep. You no longer have any hold on me.**

**Me *jumps on Sheah while armed with one black fuzzy pillow*: We'll see about that!**

**[here the dialogue dissolved into bursts of giggling and girlish squeals so we were forced to omit it from this author's note.]**

**Just a sec: I've gotta warn u people: yeah, this is a WARNING guys, so you would do well to read my author's notes, they're actually pretty amusing. But anyway, the WARNING: there is some swearing and a teensy-weensy leetle bit of romance (seriously, it's like, nothing. doesn't even register on the scale.) and also some slightly graphic blood-and-guts-spilling-all-over-the-place description. Okay, that's pretty much it.**

**Oh yeah, one more thing, I got some complaints from a few people about chapter 1 because it was apparently way too short. Yeah, I was aware of that ppl and apologize profusely (whatever that means). And so I've made efforts to make Chapter 2 longer. It's exactly 2202 words, when chapter 1 was only 1229 words! I'm so proud!**

**So, my minions, (and everyone else), read and enjoy…!**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter Two: Life, and Death**

"So, are we gonna do this?" Fang's disembodied voice came from the side of the wall, where he was slouching with his invisibility on full-scale.

"You tell me." Was Dylan's reply, "It was your idea."

"Jeez, since when did you get so cocky, Mr. Totally-clueless-innocent-good-guy?" Fang muttered under his breath. He was a little suspicious – Dylan had been acting weird and out of character ever since they had found out about the death of the flock.

"What?" Dylan asked.

"Ahh, nothing." Fang sighed. "Are you sure this is gonna work? We're not gonna get blown up too or anything?"

They were crouched in a dark alley against the back fence of the Institute for Higher Living, setting a bomb that would blow up the whole ugly building and all the little evil mad scientist experiments in it.

"How should I know?" Dylan answered from his position on his back, under the chain-link fence, checking the bomb fuse. "Bombs were that Iggy's specialty."

"Yeah, well. You know Iggy's not around to help us anymore." Fang said bitterly.

"So, are things all set over on your side?" Dylan asked, ignoring his last comment.

"Yeah." Fang said through gritted teeth. _Just a little longer. He just needed Dylan's help for a little longer. Then the Institute would be destroyed and he could fly away and never have to see that asshole's face – or any other body parts – again. _"The bomb is set to go 5 minutes after the fuse is lit. And the evacuation message will be broadcasted everywhere in the Institute, giving them time to run, as soon as I press _this _little button on my laptop." Fang gestured with his arm at the laptop, momentarily ruining his near perfect camouflage in the dark, narrow alleyway.

"Good." Dylan struck the lighter in his right hand. "Let's do this."

"Hey! Not so fast!" Fang grabbed his arm, putting out the tiny flame. "We have to somehow try and break in one more time to free all the mutants! Those evil maniacs inside won't help them. Did you forget?"

"Aw, man. Why bother?" Dylan pushed Fang's hand away and reached again for the lighter. "What life could a freak have anyway? We'll be doing them a favor."

"What? Are you frickin' crazy? That's their choice, not yours! That would be killing people, dude! You can't write them off just 'cause they're mutants! _You're _a mutant yourself!"

"Oh, I know." Dylan gave a twisted smile. "Don't worry, Fang. I don't plan on letting any sick freaks live through this, us included."

"What? What're you talking about, you messed-up psycho? What – PUT DOWN THAT LIGHTER!"

"Too late." Dylan grunted as Fang leaped at him, knocking him down. The end of the fuse blinked and flickered as it burned.

"Dammit!" Fang looked wildly around. The fuse had already burned to the other side of the fence, where he couldn't reach because of the electrical current. Then, seeing the laptop, he slammed his hand down on the ENTER button, activating the evacuation message. Dylan tried to get up, but Fang punched him and he went down again. "You – you crazy bastard! You're honestly trying to kill yourself?"

Dylan gave another creepy smile and wiped his mouth where Fang had punched him. "Yes, Fang, I am. I can't stay alive once Max is dead. I have to kill myself. I'm wired that way." Dylan laughed humorlessly. "I was created so that my world – small as it is – revolved around Max, and if Max was exterminated, I would self-destruct in 3 days. I'm not a real person, Fang. I'm a machine. I don't have a choice. You do, but I'm not going to give you that choice. If I have to die, then you're going down with me."

"Like hell I am!" Fang jumped up, wings outstretched…_wait, winged outstretched? Dammit, there's no room in this shitty little alleyway for a 14-foot wingspan!_

"Oh, so you finally figured it out?" Dylan looked at Fang mockingly. "There's no room for you to fly, and no time for you to run. You're dead, goth-boy. We both are."

_Goth-boy? GOTH-BOY? _That did it. Crazy Fang-killing plans by evil maniacs he could take. He had those for breakfast every day. He could deal with just another psycho mutant-killer, but getting called '_goth-boy' _was just too much. Why did people always assume he was goth or emo, just because he wore all black and hardly talked and listened to depressing music and went around looking angst-ridden and somber and – Ah. Never mind.

But still, no one got away with calling Fang 'goth-boy'. He swung as hard as he could at Dylan. But his fist never connected.

Because then the world exploded.

Fang leaned against the crumbled wall of the alley, racked by a fit of coughing. The air was thick with dust and smoke. Well, at least it was nice to know that his bomb had worked. Iggy and Gazzy would've been proud. He stood up, keeping his right hand on the wall for support, and almost tripped over the broken body of Dylan. There was no question about it, he was dead. Live people don't lie like that with their neck and limbs at those angles and they most certainly, definitely do NOT lie with their brain juice oozing out and one hand hanging by a few tendons.

Fang stepped over Dylan with his gaze averted so he wouldn't throw up. It was pure luck – and his bird-kid strength – that had kept him alive, and basically in one piece. But mostly luck. Dylan had been standing between him and the bomb when it blew, and his body had shielded Fang from the brunt of the explosion. Which had been, you had admit, pretty impressive. The explosion, that is.

Fang scanned the smoking remains of the Institute. He didn't think anyone in the building could have survived that disaster. It wasn't a good feeling to know that he was the one responsible for all this destruction. Not that he regretted it. Those sons of bitches totally had it coming.

Although somehow, Fang didn't fell as much satisfaction at having destroyed all their years of work – hundreds of evil, cruel instruments – as he had expected. It hadn't brought Max back. The flock was still dead. He was still alone.

Suddenly, he saw movement in the devastation of modern ruins. Someone was struggling to crawl toward the alleyway. With the thick smoke, Fang couldn't see much, but he could just catch some glimpses of a flash of brown hair, a row of tan feathers. _Max? MAX! _But no…it couldn't be. Max was dead. His love was dead. She was never coming back. It must be Max 2. The fake Max. Or some new twisted trick, courtesy of Jeb Batchelder and Co. He turned to go.

Then she lifted her eyes to his.

Her eyes…he could never forget those eyes. And then he knew. In one rushing, glorious, amazing moment, he knew.

It was his Max. She was back. She was alive.

He ran to her and put his arms around her. Held her and stroked her hair. Looked at her through eyes blurry with tears that weren't caused by the smoke. Her face was covered with dirt and bruises, her right wing was hanging half open at a weird angle, and there was blood soaking through the left shoulder of her jacket and her right pant leg. She was hurt. But forget that; she was alive. Her brown eyes were filled with love and wonder and…something else he couldn't quite place.

"Fang…" She muttered.

"_Max._" God, she was alive. She was _alive. _Alivealivealivealive_ALIVE! _His Max. Oh, to hear her voice again –

Max punched him in the jaw so hard he heard bones crack. Then she fainted.

**Right, so how was it? I know it was better than Chapter One, or at least I thought so. Longer, for one thing. And a little less angst and more action and dialogue. But who am I to judge my own work? It's all up to you, people. So REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**

**Sheah (that's SHEE-yah for you pronunciation freaks): does that include me?**

**Me: of COURSE it includes you! you're the whole reason I even posted the damn thing! are you telling me you didn't review it? *evil glint in my eye***

**Sheah: uh, well, I was going to! I swear!**

**Me: what? how dare you insult my story and scorn my skills of perception! did you think I wouldn't find out? I ALWAYS find out! I AM IMPOTENT AND ALL-KNOWING! how dare you not review my amazing story! *renews attack, this time with **_**two **_**fuzzy pillows - one black, one pink*…**

**Me: the next part was omitted due to the fact that it contained some inappropriate languge (ive always wanted to say that) and also that we decided the average under-20 audience wouldn't be interested in the details of a catfight between two teenage girls.**

**Sheah: anyway, the point we're trying to make is, if you want to live a long, happy life, or at least live another day, REVIEW! don't think she can't hurt you just because she's using pillows. man, those zippers are **_**sharp!**_

**Me: they don't even **_**have **_**zippers! I just checked!**

**Sheah: Will you shut up! I'm trying to help you get a few more reviews here!**

**Me: Oh. Oh, **_**yeah. **_**Yeah, I can totally give you **_**hell**_** with the zippers on these cushions. I mean pillows. I mean sharp pain-inducing weapons. *goes to kitchen and returns with butcher knife***

**Sheah: GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME! **

**Me: *disappointedly puts down knife* Okay, okay. jeez, calm down. it was just for effect.**

**Sheah: well, it worked!**

**Me: good. that means people will be persuaded to review. SO REVIEW GUYS! UNLESS YOU ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE OF A BUTCHER KNIFE STUCK IN YOUR [insert body part here]!**


	3. Chapter 3: Keep Going

**READ the author's note guys.**** I mean, come on, it's TWO FREAKING PARAGRAPHS. How hard can it be? If you don't read them, how will you know if I have a special interview with Fang or wutever at the note at the end? Huh? And in fact, I just might have one next chapter…so DON'T MISS OUT!**

**Okay, so this chapter has a lot of Fax, which I don't know if I've been dying to write or not but that I know a lot of you have been dying to read. So, I hope you're satisfied. On second thought, I did write some Fax in chapter 2 and you could even count chapter 1 although technically it's a bit of a stretch since one of the characters in question – namely, Max – was supposed to be dead in Ch. 1. Can you have Fang x Max when only one of them is alive (or at least that you know of)? I guess I did…I dunno. **

**Anyway, I'm really not sure what to make of this chapter. I'm a little hesitant to judge my own work, since no matter what a writer is going to be a little biased when judging their own work. But still, I'm a little dissatisfied with this chapter because I have Fang and Max having a little sob fest, which is totally lame and out of character for them, although – in my opinion – excusable given the circumstances (they haven't seen each other for 2 fnicking years people!)… Anyways, y'all will have to see for yourselves. Although this chapter is 2205 word - more than either of the other ones! be proud of me! (okay, so its more then ch. 2 by THREE words but it's still more...) haha wutevs. So anyway, read on…**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter Three: Keep Going**

"Max! Max!" Fang frantically shook her shoulders, "Max, dammit, wake up!"

This was bad. He had never seen Max pass out like this, not even once. He'd seen her near drowning, shot and bleeding, attacked by 10 Erasers, attacked by 100 Flyboys, and fighting to the death with ?, but she had never passed out. Not one single time.

After all, this was Max you were talking about. And if _Max _was hurt so bad she couldn't stay conscious, it must be really, really serious.

"Max, please! We've got to get out of here! At least some of those mad scientists got out, and they're probably going to turn up with their gun-wielding robots and tranquilizer darts any minute now. Not to mention the cops – that was one hell of a bang back then. They'll probably think we're terrorists or something. Come on, Max. MAX!"

He shook her again, harder this time, but Max stayed slumped against his shoulder, her hair and face crusted with partly dried blood.

Fang was scared. He'd never been this scared before. Not like this. Goddammit, he _couldn't _get his Max back only to lose her again. No, he couldn't let her die. Not like this. He had to get her help.

Fang thought about flying while carrying Max, but he knew he couldn't do it. Although he could move a lot faster that way, the added strain to his wings, both from the bomb blast and Max's weight, would probably send him plummeting to the ground once he'd reached about sixty feet or so. He hadn't survived for seventeen years despite the various schemes of various evil characters of questionable sanity just to end up as a lump of jellied-Fang on the asphalt ground.

With his arms shaking from exhaustion, Fang slung one of her arms around his neck, then put his left hand under her legs and picked her up. Holy crap, Max was heavy. She was _really _heavy. He almost said it out loud, then shut up on the off-chance that Max wasn't totally unconscious and could hear him, because she would beat the crap out of him for saying something like that if she did. Not that he was worried about her beating him up or anything. He just didn't want her to open her wounds up again from moving too much.

Well, all right, maybe he _was _a little scared of Max beating him up, even when she was hurt, but could anyone blame him? For being scared of _Max?_ I thought not. And, despite his dearly departed rival and useful human shield Dylan, he wasn't in the shape to take any more hits, either.

A sudden loud cacophony of crashes in the silence after the explosion made him start and turn around, a little awkwardly because of the girl in his arms. But it was just another part of the ruined building finally giving in to the strain of standing on crumbling supports and collapsing to the ground. Fang took one last look at the place that had once been his own personal hell, along with his flock's, for the last few years, then turned to go. It was a long way to the nearest subway, and he had to get Max somewhere safe as soon as possible.

Fang walked. Increasingly slower and slower, but without stopping, except to read a street map or ask for directions every so often. He walked and walked and walked, with Max as a dead weight in his arms. He walked to the dull monotonous thudding of his Niked feet on the sidewalk, and the various noises of pedestrians and traffic on a normal day in [the name of the city was omitted due to reasons of security and privacy].

After a while, all the buildings and people he passed became a blur, all looking the same to him in his tired eyes. He even stopped noticing all the weird looks he was getting, walking down the street carrying an unconscious girl, both of them covered in dirt and blood. At one point he felt something wet trickling down the side of his leg, and looked down to see a deep red patch of blood blossoming on his jeans.

Huh. Guess he hadn't been as uninjured as he'd thought. Weirdly, Fang didn't feel any pain from the wound. He wondered why. Must be the adrenaline or whatever. But he knew he'd probably hurt like hell later on when it all caught up with him.

Right now though, he didn't care about that. He was only thinking of one thing. One thought, a single line running over and over through his head like a mantra: _He had to save Max. He had to save Max. He had to save Max. HE HAD TO SAVE MAX!_

So he kept walking.

Then, so slightly he didn't dare believe it, the body in his arms moved. Then she moved again. He stopped walking. Max groaned slightly and opened her eyes. "What…what happ – FANG!"

"Hey, Max. It's been a while." He gave a small smile as he stared into her eyes, breathed in her scent…Max reached out her uninjured arm and traced a finger down the side of his face.

"Fang…your face…it's wet…are you _crying?" _

Fang smiled through his tears. "You're crying yourself, you know that?"

"Fang…you stupid, stubborn, amazing _idiot…"_

God, he couldn't believe he had survived for two whole years without seeing her face. How had he stayed alive? How had he ever kept his resolve to stay away from her? He needed her. Needed her in his life…Hell, who was he kidding? She _was _his life.

"…Fang…God, you came back…" She was looking at him like he was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world. To be together with Max…it couldn't get any better than this, he thought.

That was before she pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

He slowly let her sink to the ground, their lips still touching, and they knelt there, in the dusty sidewalk, his long fingers tangled in her hair, her hand pressing into the small of his back, and did what they should have done two years ago.

Then, too soon, much too soon, it was over. Max pulled away from him and looked at his face searchingly. "What happened, Fang?"

He told her. He told her everything. He told her all that had happened since he left her, for those last two years. He told her how he thought she had died. How he had sought revenge.

And he told her how Dylan had died.

As he spoke, he watched her expression, waiting to see what her reaction was at the news, but he saw only pity and grim resignation in her eyes. And for a moment, just a single moment, Fang felt a flicker of gladness, a tiny bit of relief, that Dylan had died. That he could be alone with his Max again. Angry at himself, he crushed the thought like you crumpled a piece of paper.

Damn, he wasn't glad Dylan was dead. No one deserved to die that way. Not even Dylan, after all he had done. And like Dylan had said, it wasn't his fault. Blame the evil scientists who made him that way.

Fang was pulled out of his reverie by Max's voice, "So what do we do now, Fang? Where were you planning on going?"

Surprised, Fang turned his head and stared at her. She was asking _him _for advice? Max, the always-confident ass-kicking leader? Then he took a closer look at her face. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and she could barely stay standing. She was exhausted, like she hadn't slept in a week. What had she gone through in that Institute?

"We go to the nearest public transport station and have them take us to your mother." Fang said with hardly any hesitation. _Ha. Be proud, Max. I'll make a leader yet. _"Dr. Martinez can fix us up. We've got to keep going. Can you walk?"

Max nodded, "Yeah. And good idea." Her face visibly brightened at the thought of once more seeing the only family she had, apart from the flock…_WAIT, THE FLOCK! How could he forget?_

"Max! The flock! If you survived, what about the rest of them? What happened to the others?"

Max looked up at him as she got to her feet, her eyes unreadable. "Fang, I've gotta tell you, they're – " Then she gasped in pain as her injured ankle gave out and she slid back to the ground, her teeth gritted and both hands wrapped around her ankle, the knuckles white.

"Argh, dammit, Max…" He struggled to control his emotions. Not knowing if the flock was alive or dead…it was like torture. But if Max wasn't in any shape to even talk, she definitely wouldn't be walking any time soon. Fang bent down and gently pried her fingers away from her leg, then picked her up again. Max made a faint noise that might have been protest, but it was too quiet to tell. "Just…try and rest, Max. I'll wake you when we get there."

_If we get there. _Fang thought to himself cynically, _If I have go on for much longer, my legs will probably end up giving out too and eventually we'll be Eraser meat._

But he would go on for as long as he could, he promised himself. He wouldn't let Max, or himself for that matter, die without a fight. _If I have to crawl, I will. So long as I can keep Max safe._

So he walked some more.

After a block or two, Fang's leg started seizing up and by another few blocks he was limping. But he kept going. He was barely doing a block a minute now, but he kept going. He had to keep going. He had to save Max.

_Come on, Fang. You can do this. It's just _WALKING, _for Christ's sake! How hard can it be? _

_Very hard. But I know, I'll do it. I have to save Max._

Then, after what felt like hours but had probably just been another thirty minutes, when he was so tired he felt like he couldn't take another step, Fang finally saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his 17 years of life, apart from Max after she'd showered. A subway station.

**Me: So, guys, how was it? Lost faith in me yet? Totally disappointed? Too bad. DEAL WITH IT! I didn't think it was **_**that **_**bad. There were some good parts. Jeez…**

**Sheah: Yeah, well, I thought it totally sucked. I mean, Fang **_**crying? **_**Please. That's just so not **_**Fang. **_**I lost some of my appeal for him because of that.**

**Me *very insulted*: **_**Appeal? **_**Gimme a break. We're talking about a flying fictional character that only exists in someone else's creepy imagination here…**

**Sheah: So? Your point? At least I'm not the one who paused the movie when we were watching Twilight on a close-up of Jacob Black and drooled at the TV for 5 minutes…**

**Me: **_**EXCUSE ME? **_**I was NOT drooling, you [bleep]! And at least I actually know what he looks like! And Taylor Lautner EXISTS! You don't even know what Fang **_**looks**_** like, for god's sake! He could be twelve feet tall and have blue spots all over his face! (no offense, Fang.)**

**Sheah: Uhhhh….okay….**_**very **_**weird image there….**

**Me: Anyway,**** IF YOU REVIEW THEN I'LL UPDATE SOONER!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Ride

**So…chapter four. Here it is… I spent a bit longer writing it than the last three chapters, but I still finished it within a week, which is totally epic… Anyway, I only took longer because A) I was also working on a new Bleach fanfic which ****HAS NOW BEEN POSTED and B) because I got this huge slash on my index finger cutting strawberries so I takes me longer to type and I make more mistakes (I am NOT kidding ppl! it's the truth! just exaggerated…..and u don't wanna know how I managed to cut myself, it was so stupid it makes me despise myself just thinking about it…like how stupid could I get?)**

**But anyway, hope ya like it…! (u better, I took enough effort writing it!)**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter Four: The Ride**

It took all of Fang's powers of persuasion to get them on that subway train. The security guard was none too keen on letting two shady-looking kids (Well if someone's been living on the run in the streets for a week and just got caught in an explosion, how do you _expect_ they'll look?) with bloodstains all over them through the turnstiles of the station. Especially once Fang admitted he was short a buck on paying for their tickets. But he managed it.

At least, Fang would've _liked _to think that they owed it all to his acting skills. But to be honest, it was probably the sight of Max's sleeping face that had done the trick. That girl could scare the crap out of ten grown men when she was angry, but her expression when she was sleeping was so sweet and sad… so sad. Even when she was asleep, she had a soft frown on her face.

Hell, he hated to think of all the pain she had through in her life. Especially those last two years. It had taken all his willpower to fly away from her then, and now that he was back, all he really wanted to do was to protect her. He just wanted to shield her from all the evil in the world. Not that Max couldn't take care of herself. She was better at taking care of herself, and everyone else in the flock, than anyone he knew.

But Max wasn't impervious to pain. No one was. And that awful time, after they'd had to run away from their old home to escape the Erasers and that bastard Jeb, had taken its toll on her, little by little. It had been hard on all of the flock, but especially hard on Max. He had watched helplessly as she got more and more stressed, the frown lines between her eyebrows getting more and more visible, and her patience snapping more and more easily as time went by.

He had probably just made it even worse by abandoning her, he thought. _Because that's what I did. I abandoned her. No matter what the reasons were, I let Max down when she needed me most. I left her to cope all by herself for two goddamn years. I was the one she could always depend on, her right-hand man, and I cut off her right hand when I left._

But he would never do it again, he swore to himself. He wouldn't break his promise this time. Man, looking down at her face, he _couldn't _leave her again even if he wanted to.

The train thundered its way through endless miles of concrete darkness. It was speeding them across the country, out of sight of the cities and towns up above, with houses and stores and cars and chocolate-chip cookie factories and bacon and living, breathing, talking people. And bird-kid-killing robots.

God bless the underground.

Not.

Fang shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat, trying his best not to disturb Max, who lay across the whole row of seats with her head in his lap, fast asleep. If Iggy was still alive, Fang would be able to answer his question of whether or not Max snored. And how loud.

Fang had chosen the last seat in the last row on the last car of the train, and even tried to duct-tape the doors shut, but despite his efforts they had still been joined by several other passengers. All of whom looked much too much like Erasers, or Flyboys, or mutants, or clones (can someone actually _look _like a clone?) or someone who would wear a white coat for Fang's liking. There was even one horsy woman with a very long neck who Fang thought looked suspiciously like an Uber-Director.

He knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help it. And hey, when you're a bird/human mutant, it's being paranoid that keeps you alive.

The train bumped its way over an uneven part in the rails, making their car sway unnervingly from side to side. Max gave a small moan in her sleep and started to roll off the seats. Fang put out one hand to steady her but kept his eyes on the fellow occupants of the car, watching them like a hawk. He hoped they would all get off at the next few stops, so that he could do something about Max's wounds without drawing unwanted attention and having to answer any awkward questions.

The train rolled along, grinding over the rails with a monotonous consistency that had a lulling effect on Fang. Heck, he was so tired. It looked like all the action of the day had finally caught up with him.

He wondered what time it was. It had been around noon by the time he and Dylan had finished setting the bomb, because it had taken them hours to infiltrate the Institute, so it was probably close to dusk when he and Max got on the subway. Was it dark outside by now? Probably. People were probably coming home from work around now, collapsing on their couches or crawling into their soft, soft beds…

Fang fought to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. The waves of exhaustion closed over him and he sank into the gentle mists of sleep.

Fang woke to the cold barrel of a gun pressed roughly into the side of his head. He stiffened and straightened from his slumped position on the hard seat of the subway, but his attacker was standing behind him so that Fang couldn't tell who it was. The other passengers of the car were nowhere to be seen.

_Where was Max?_

"Stand up slowly and put your hands behind you."

Fang obeyed. Was it a tranq gun or a real one? Whichever it was, he didn't want the thing shot at him.

_Where was Max?_

"Turn your head and I'll put a bullet through your brain, sucker."

Ah, so it was a real gun. Did they want him dead then? But then why tie his hands up? Why not just kill him here? So they could get rid of the evidence? _Where was Max?_

"Are you alone, boy? I'll know if you're lying." The voice was rough and gravelly, but had a definite human quality to it. An Eraser? But weren't their voices supposed to be the only sweet part of them, designed to charm and hypnotize the victim? Maybe it was a new type of Eraser.

"No, I'm not alone, asshole." Fang snarled. "There are fifteen of us and we've got you surrounded. You're dead meat."

An iron-hard paw hit him across his left cheek with inhuman force, the claws leaving deep furrows that burned like fire. Fang gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Yep. Definitely an Eraser. _But WHERE WAS MAX?_

"Don't play games, ya little shit. ARE YOU OR AREN'T YOU ALONE?"

_There!_ He saw her, wedged under the seats in front of them. She must have rolled off the seats she lay on after he fell asleep and couldn't move because of her ankle. Her eyes were wide awake and full of rage and fear. Her whole body was trembling with the effort of staying still.

He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, trying to send the message with his eyes, willing her to understand. _No, Max. Don't. Please don't. _She clenched her fists but didn't move. It seemed impossible that the Eraser hadn't seen her, and yet…

"Yeah." Fang said tightly. "I'm alone."

"Good, good." The Eraser cackled, an incredibly disturbing noise. "No fellow freaks to save your puny ass this time, huh, mutant?"

Fang kept himself from pointing out that Erasers were mutants, too, even more obviously than bird-kids. And that at least his ass wasn't covered in gross hairy wolf-fur.

"Now, walk in front of me down the aisle, and don't try anything if you wanna live. You've been warned."

Fang forced himself to walk away from Max, keeping his eyes straight ahead in case the Eraser had second thoughts about whether or not Fang was by himself. There was something, the beginnings of a thought at the back of his head, which was nagging at him. The sense that something was wrong about this, something didn't make sense. But he didn't know what it was.

Fang made his way to the end of the aisle and stopped, looking through the two layers of scratched plastic windows to the car coupled in front of theirs, hoping someone would look over and notice wolf-man and the gun and get help. But the passengers near the back window were all too occupied with their own problems to pay any attention to the car behind them, and Fang valued the contents of his head too much to pound on the window to get their attention. (The gun was still pressed to his ear.)

Well, it was nice to know that they were all alive, anyway, which was probably more that could be said for the unlucky passengers who happened to be in _his _car.

Something coldly metal, hard and sharp jabbed him in the side, forcing him to turn so that he faced the double doors of the train. Fang assumed the sharp thing was a claw. He hoped Erasers cleaned their nails, or his cheek might get infected.

The Eraser jabbed him again, forcing him to step forward, closer to the flimsy train doors, and Fang got a cold feeling at the bottom of his stomach. "Wait a second, what are you – "

The Eraser opened the doors with one kick and pushed Fang off the moving train onto the tracks below.

**Me: And DAN-DA-DAN-DAN-DAN…! SUSPENSE IS SO AMAZING! OH, THE WAY YOU CAN TORTURE PEOPLE….I LOVE IT! OH YEAH! I COULD DO THIS ALL DAY! I THINK ITS MY SECOND FAVORITE ACTIVITY AFTER BEATING UP MY COUSIN ALEXANDER WHO IS LIKE 5 YEARS OLDER THAN ME BUT LETS ME DO WHATEVER I LIKE TO HIM! Although it could be that he just doesn't feel it….but anyways it's just SOOOO MUCH FUUUUN!**

**Sheah: You have a warped idea of day to day entertainment. And a twisted idea of fun.**

**Me *extremely wounded* : **_**Warped? **_**It's not **_**warped! **_**And it's not **_**twisted **_**either! I like to call it unique. Original. **_**Different. **_**Disturbingly different to some people, granted. But everyone is entitled to their own opinions. In my opinion it's just uniquely violent and awesome and evil and pain-inducing-either-mentaly-or-physically-toward-other-people.**

**Sheah: Which is basically the same thing….**

**Me: Whatever. You know I'm not really this violent. It's all just an act continued from chapter two to scare the readers into writing reviews for me, remember?**

**Sheah: Well, yeah, but it's kinda hard to tell the difference between a pretend evil FireBankai7 and a **_**normal **_**evil FireBankai7…**

**Me *give a sweetly evil smile*: Aww, I'm not that bad, am I?**

**Sheah: Well, yeah, you are, but I'm just as bad so it don't matter.**

**Me *placated*: Oh, 'kay, that's cool. So now we just gotta do the disclaiming. Sorry, correction, YOU gotta do the disclaiming.**

**Sheah: Ah, why me? **

**Me *smiles evilly again*: Because I'm the writer and you have to do SOMETHING or I won't even let you into this fanfic. Mwah ha. *the mwah ha was said very half-heartedly***

**Sheah *pouts*: Aww, man. Fine, fine. So neither of us own Maximum Ride or any of its characters except for the security guard. We do own him.**

**Me: **_**I **_**own him! You had nothing to do with it. His unique character, his deep and intricate past, his subtle habits and affectations, his amazing accent, all came from my totally unbelievable imagination.**

**Sheah: Girl, he didn't even TALK in your fanfic, how could he have an ACCENT?**

**Me: ….You be quiet and stop trying to steal my moment of fame. **

**Sheah: What moment of – ? **

**Me *cuts Sheah off* : Okay, now for REVIEWING. If you review then I'll update sooner and if I get ****15 reviews ****before I post the next chapter, I will write a little interview with security-guard-dude and have him answer some questions I'm sure you'll be dying to know. Like where he got his accent.**

**Sheah: He doesn't HAVE a friggin – AHHH!**

**(note: u don't wanna know what that last exclamation was about. )**

**(note number 2: ****Check out my new fanfic people! Its called FROZEN LIKE ICE and it's a BLEACH fanfic****, just so ya know….the first chapter is a little disappointing, honestly, but its always like that with me: gets better after the first chapter.)**


	5. Chapter 5: The Riser

**Okay so before u read the story I just wanted to make something clear. I've been getting lots of people telling me my author's notes are way too long and that I need to make them a lot shorter. Well, no offense people but that's just your suggestion. I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything but I like writing authors notes, I dunno why but I just do. And you don't have to read them unless you want to but sorry I'm gonna write them this long – if it's too long for you then just don't read it. No ones making you. So…yeah. Just saying. Like I'm not trying to be mean or anything but I was just getting really tired of people telling me in their reviews to make my A/N's shorter. So if ya don't like then just suck it up or skip it, don't come crying to me, 'kay? Thanks. Sorry guys just had to get that out there. And I don't know if you noticed or not but I did try to make this A/N shorter. So now Sheah's mad at me cuz I cut her out of it…**

**Sheah: *materializes out of nowhere* Yeah! Leaving me out! Bitch…**

**Me: Hey! You're not supposed to be here! I deleted your whole dialogue from this…and who the hell u calling a bitch? And how are you even here?**

**Sheah: *sticks tongue out* I snuck back in when you weren't looking.**

**Me: How can you sneak into a**_** MICROSOFT WORD DOCUMENT? **_

**Sheah: Dunno…because I'm special?**

**Me: *sighs* That's not good enough…and NOW YOU CAN GET OUTTA HERE!**

**Sheah: Aww, shoot, but I was only just starting to have fun – ! *disappears***

**Me: Sorry about that. Guess I couldn't totally keep her out after all. So much for a short A/N…darn…..Alright, read on.**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter 5: The Riser**

Fang woke up on his back in the darkness with a splitting headache. He tried to sit up and groaned. There wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt like hell. It felt like he'd been hit by a truck at ninety miles-per-hour and then fallen off the top of the Empire State Building with his wings tied together. And he was sure his head was about to crack open and start spurting brain juice everywhere. His skin was uncomfortably hot and he could feel the sweat trickling down the side of his arm.

He struggled onto his elbows and tried to see through the heavy darkness that was so thick he could almost _feel _it pressing into him, making his eyes ache. As his eyes started to adjust, Fang thought he could see the dim silhouettes of human figures, some of them sitting still, some moving around, all of them concealed but for the barest of outlines by the absence of light in the room. Or was it just his fevered mind making him hallucinate? The excruciating pain in his head threatened to make Fang pass out, and he finally gave up and fell back to the ground, immediately sinking into a feverish, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Max stayed crouched under the seats of the subway for another full three minutes, until she was sure Fang's attacker had left, before she dragged herself out with her good arm and collapse onto a seat, her ankle and shoulder throbbing with pain. Her head was reeling from the shock and disbelief of what she'd seen, but most of all out of fear for Fang.

From her cramped position under the seats, she had twisted her head awkwardly around to follow Fang and his captor to the front of the train, and when the guy had pushed Fang off of the speeding train she'd had to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood to stop herself from crying out.

She knew that every third rail on the train track was charged with electricity, designed to fry anyone who touched it into a million volts of charred ash. Which meant that there was just a two in three chance that Fang had survived and hadn't been electrocuted, and even so he would be badly hurt from the fall. _Goddammit all! _Max pushed down the anxiety that threatened to swamp her mind and tried to make sense of what she had seen.

The attacker had stayed behind Fang the whole time, so Fang didn't see the dull brown and green camo uniform, the blue badge inscribed with the initials IHL, the shiny metal faux-Eraser-claws strapped onto the unnaturally developed human hands, the chemically enhanced muscles bulging under the stiff fabric, and most of all, he didn't see the shockingly young face, no older than seventeen or eighteen, or maybe even younger than Fang, with blue eyes glazed from brainwashing and the horrors it had seen, peeking out from under a tan army cap stamped with what looked like a serial number.

No, Fang couldn't see any of this, but Max did. And she realized now that it could only mean one thing. The Institute was taking regular human kids and turning them into Assassins.

* * *

The second time Fang woke up, it was because a burning white light was being shined painfully into his eyes. He put up a hand to try and shield his face from the glare, and rolled to the side, away from the light. But it followed him like an irritating fly that you couldn't swat away, his own personal mini sun designed to annoy the hell out of him.

Then Fang's head suddenly cleared, the last smothering tendrils of sleep draining away, and it all came back to him in one hyper-fast flash. He rolled to his feet in one smooth action, his muscles screaming in protest, and ducked away from that he could now see was a flashlight, his arms and body held in a ready position for any attack, his wings tensed, ready to open in case flight was needed. He winced as he stumbled over something hard and cold, sending a wave of pain shooting through his bad leg and making him realize that his shoes were no longer on his feet.

"So you're finally awake, huh?"

Fang froze in surprise at the voice. It was a young voice, young like fourteen or fifteen, a guy whose voice had deepened, but only just. He'd expected maybe a scientist, or some robot arm holding the flashlight, not a teenager younger than him. But that made more sense, he realized. The Eraser had pushed him off the subway, not tied him up and Fang-napped him. Well, he _had _tied Fang's hands up, but he hadn't tried to take him anywhere…Wait, he _did _tie him up, so why wasn't he tied up now? Fang glanced down at his wrists in the dim light cast by the flashlight in the guy's hand, and saw faint red lines that had already started to fade.

"I untied you, if that's what you're wondering. And now that you're up, I can patch up that leg, too, if you'll let me. And I'm dunno who took your sneakers, dude. 'Fraid they musta done it while I wasn't looking. Sorry."

Fang stared a little at the kid. He wasn't used to strangers being this nice, and it made him feel kind of awkward. Well, at least he hadn't been taken by the Institute. To be honest, Fang felt a little insulted that they didn't want him. Did they think he wasn't good enough for their experiments anymore? Arrogant bastards.

Right now though, it looked like this kid didn't pose any threat, so he was safe for the present. Fang straightened into a more relaxed position and cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Who are you? And where the hell am I?"

The kid smiled. Fang couldn't see his face very well, but he could hear the smile in his voice. "Who am I? Well, they call me The Riser. Or just plain Riser. That's all you need to know. Now it's your turn. You can tell me who you are. And how you ended up here. Well, actually, I know how you ended up here. I had to drag you, and heck you were heavy, but how did ya end up lying on the tracks, hey? I mean, if you got a death wish, there's plenty easier ways to do it. So I figure you didn't end up like that on purpose. So watcha do to get someone so pissed they'd leave ya lying on the tracks, huh? That's what I wanna know." He said all this in one breath.

_Who is this kid? Nudge's not-so-glamorous male clone? I swear I've never met anyone who sounded so annoyingly perky. _Fang had to take a second to sort out what he'd said. "Yeah? Well, you're gonna answer my question first. Where the hell am I?"

"Where are you? You mean you've never heard of it?" Riser's grin stretched even wider. "This is The Mole Kingdom. Well, I call it the Mole Kingdom anyway. That sounds a lot cooler. But its also known to the general _civilized _public as one of the dozens of homeless communities holed up underground. Now come sit down and you can talk while I fix that leg."

Fang grunted noncommittally. Who the hell did this kid think he was, telling Fang what to do? And what was with that creepy, obnoxious smile, for cripes' sake? Did he think everything was a joke? And he talked so much, it was really getting on Fang's nerves. Thank god he'd had so much practice with Nudge. And what kind of a name was 'Riser' anyway?

_The same kind of name as 'Fang'._ _And be nicer, the kid's just trying to help._

Riser led Fang over to what felt like a concrete wall and sat down against it, leaning his flashlight against the wall with the bulb pointing upwards, so that its light reflected off the low ceiling and cast a dim glow on their surroundings.

Fang saw that they were in a wide, narrow tunnel-like room that was made entirely of concrete, with graffiti scrawled across the walls and ragged groups of homeless people of all ages and sizes gathered along the tunnel, their piles of dirty blankets and plastic bags in messy heaps against the walls.

The hard object that his foot had connected with turned out to be part of some broken pieces of train tracks that must have been from back when the tunnel was being used. By the general _civilized _public.

"What makes you think I'm going to talk at all?" Fang muttered under his breath. He could deal with people who were out to kill him, he was used to that, but he wasn't sure what to make of this unexpected kindness. It made him uncomfortable and more than a little suspicious.

He knelt awkwardly next to Riser and took the piece of relatively clean rag from his hands before the kid started playing nurse on him. "I'll do it." Fang said quietly. Riser didn't protest, just moved the flashlight closer to Fang and sat there, silent for once.

Fang studied the kid, who he could see more clearly now that the flashlight wasn't shining in his face. He was on the skinny side, of an average height, with uncut dirty-blonde hair that reminded Fang unpleasantly of Dylan. He pushed the thought aside and focused on pulling out the five-inch-long splinter that had been blown into his leg by the explosion, then tying the rag tightly around the jagged slash that it had created.

He would have preferred to clean the wound out first, so it wouldn't get infected, but somehow Fang doubted that there was any alcohol in one of those plastic bags, not the cleaning kind anyway, and if there was any water around he had a feeling that the homeless guys wouldn't appreciate him using their precious drinking water like that. Ah, well, he'd just have to make do.

Anyway, Fang realized, he'd been incredibly lucky just to have survived his fall onto the tracks, and that Riser had found him before another train came along and turned him into Fang-mush. Only Max was allowed to turn him into Fang-mush. He should be grateful, really.

Riser talked a lot, but his one-sided conversations were mostly about nothing. He was good with giving people space. He hadn't even asked Fang his name, or how he'd gotten a bomb splinter in his leg. The only thing he'd wanted to know was why Fang had been unconscious on the train tracks, and even then when Fang didn't tell him straight away he didn't ask again.

And Riser was a lot better than the last homeless kid they'd encountered underground, that paranoid computer geek who somehow got the contents of Max's brain projected onto the screen of his laptop. Not that Fang blamed him for freaking out. Fang would probably freak out too if he was to see the contents of Max's brain. But for different reasons.

Fang finished bandaging his leg and sat back. He rolled his shoulders to try and figure out where else he'd been hurt the most. He knew that by tomorrow he'd probably be covered in bruises.

"You hungry?" Riser asked, "'Cause I'll go dig you up something to eat if you are." He kept talking without waiting for an answer, "Well, dang, 'course you're hungry. Why am I even asking? Anyone's gonna be doggone _starving_ after sleeping like a stonefor the last two hours after going through that ya gotta tell me although I'm bugging to know. But anyways even if you didn't want no food I'd've got some 'cause even if you aren't hungry I'm bloody _dying _of food deprivation even though I just ate, like, three hours ago. So the thing is I'll just go get us some grub, hey?" Riser got up to go.

"Hey…Riser?" Fang still couldn't get over the kid's name.

Riser stopped and looked at him expectantly. "Yeah? What?"

"Thanks, man."

Riser turned the color of Nudge's hot pink glittery lip gloss, except he didn't glitter. "Sure. No problem. Anytime. Well, nah, not anytime, 'cause you really frickin weight a ton, but you get me. It's fine. It's all good, like. I mean, you're all right, man." That obnoxious grin was stretched across his face again, but this time Fang didn't care.

**Sheah: Awwwwww, that's so sweet. So, what, now they're gonna swear eternal brotherhood and sign their names in blood or something? Or spit on their hands and then shake or wutever it is that guys do?**

**Me: Hey! Don't make fun of my work! Altho I get wut you mean. Like, it's just weird for Fang to be so touchy-feely and all.*turns to readers (THIS MEANS YOU)* I know! I know! The ending sucks! But I think its also kinda funny and cute, doncha know? And I'm kinda proud of the way Riser talks. Like there's no actual distinguishable accent but he just kinda slips into this unique slang way of talking that's also very Nudge-like but not quiet the same. **

**Sheah: *admiring* I gotta say, I could never write anything like this.**

**Me: *pats Sheah's head* Aw, don't worry, your day will come. For now you can just be famous by disclaiming.**

**Sheah: *resignedly* Sigh, okay, so FireBankai7 doesn't own Maximum Ride – or Fang apparently – to be honest I'm a little disappointed – but she does own Riser, who was totally created just by her imagination.**

**Me: Yeah! My imagination kicks ass! And by the way, guys, in chapter 6 or 7 (but probably 6) you're gonna find out WTH Max was talking about with her 'Assassins', and also the story behind Riser's name and also his past will be revealed in either chapter 6 or 7! So go me! Or at least, I hope you'll find out about Riser's story…..but I gotta work on it…..cuz I'm still having trouble thinking up some explanations…especially about his name….cuz it just sounded cool at the time so I picked it…...but the explanation I thought I'd use I now think totally sucks…..so if you all would be so nice as to ****WRITE ME A REVIEW WITH SOME SUGGESTIONS**** I will totally luv y'all and ****WILL WRITE AN EVEN LONGER CHAPTER ****THAN THIS ONE WHICH WAS THE LONGEST ****YET AT ALMOST ****3000 WORDS!**


	6. Chapter 6: Expiration Dates For The Win

**A/N: Hell yeah! finaly! I've been wanting to write something from Nudge's viewpoint for like forever. I mean, no one ever gives her enough credit, she's actually one of my favorite characters…but anyway, im afraid all u fellow Fang-lovers r gonna hav to wait until the nxt chapter to hear from fang again. Chapter 6 is reserved just for Max, Nudge and Angel-the-phsycotic-child-who-kinda-reminds-me-of-my-little-sister**

**Oh yeah, so angel (the book) finally came out and I thought it was a total, complete, absolute…heck, there isn't a bad enough word for it. chronic failure, maybe? except I have about as much of an idea of what 'chronic' means as Gazzy and Iggy understand the meaning of 'peace' and 'anti-war'. but honestly, and I think most of u agree with me on this, it totally sucked. well, actually that's a bit too extreme, like the parts with fang's new gang was pretty cool, and there were some good parts, but seriously, the whole Mylan (Max x Dylan) thing just…did not work. (sorry Dylan-lovers. S'nothing personal) I mean, james patterson just basically made Dylan a whole new character, he was like a completely different person from the last book, and as for the whole thing with the two of them saying things at the same time? that was just **_**so**_** lame. **

**But anyway, the reason I brought up angel (the book) is because u know how at the end of the book they blow up Itex or the Institute or wutever? Well, if uve read my previous chapters, remember how in chapter 1 I had fang and Dylan blow up the institute with a homemade bomb? and back then angel hadn't even come out yet! How cool is that? its like I totally predicted it or something…lol. but anyway, I just thought it was kinda awesome…so, yeah, just thought id mention that …lol XD I mean, it's OBVIOUSLY further proof of my wizard/ninja/all-that-cool-shit powers...seriously, they CANT deny me my Hogwarts letter anymore! **

**But most importantly, GINORMOUS EXTREME APOLOGIES for taking like literally a year to post this new chapter…I had this chapter practically finished for aaaaages but just never posted it….tbh I kinda forgot fanfiction existed for a while….(I know, I know, shame on me.) but hey, now im back! So its all good…oh and, just a suggestion, if u just happened to forget the last few chapters in the year it took for me to post this (again, im sowwy! D,: ) well, feel free to go back and read them again, and review while you're at it ;D **

**Now…..keep scrolling down the page and behold the greatest piece of writing in the century…or you could just read my story ;)**

**Their Wings**

**Chapter 6: Expiration Dates FTW**

While Fang was having some guys' bonding time with his new buddy Riser (And that was partly sarcasm just now, for you take-every-freaking-thing-literally freaks), Max was trying to figure out how the hell she was going to find Fang again. She didn't know how far they'd been from the last stop when he fell. She didn't even know what their last stop _was, _because she'd had to stay under the seats while the Assassin got off, and she couldn't be sure he had gone until the doors had closed and the train had left.

As Iggy would've said, this was almost as bad as the entire world being deprived of bacon and explosives. Max's anxiety built as the train sped on its way, taking her further and further away from Fang. She had to get back to him. Find him and warn him about the kid-Assassin.

When she and the rest of the flock had been locked up in the Institute, she had seen the Assassins walking around in their camo uniforms and badges and sniper guns and grafted-on claws. It hadn't exactly made the flock feel warm and fuzzy inside, but they'd accepted it as just another messed-up creation like the Erasers and Clones, designed by the Institute to take out some of their other messed-up creations that hadn't worked out as well.

But they had only been able to accept it because the Assassins had all been adults, at least over twenty-five, and like the scientists, they knew exactly what was going on. They'd _wanted _to be turned into screwed-up versions of the Wolverine from X-Men. Go figure. But the kid who attacked Fang had had the definite glazed look of someone who'd been brainwashed. And somewhere in those dull, clouded eyes, Max had seen a flicker of something that looked like…fear. He couldn't have agreed to all this voluntarily.

It was stuff like this, this and what they did to mutants, that made her sick just thinking about the Institute. Sick and furious.

A man's recorded voice sounded over the intercom, snapping Max out of her reverie in time for her to hear the last few words of the sentence. "…to mind the gap as you exit, thank you."

_Damn, I didn't hear what station we're in! I don't even know what city I'm in right now!_

Max internally cursed herself for her lack of awareness. She leaped to her feet as the train doors slid open, then winced as white-hot pain shot through her right ankle and her leg threatened to buckle beneath her. She'd forgotten about her busted ankle.

Max grasped the back of a nearby seat, leaning most of her weight on it, and waited until the stabbing pain faded to a duller ache that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Then, keeping her hands on the back of the chairs for support, she started half-hopping, half-limping quickly toward the exit-way.

At least her shoulder and wing had healed fast. Thank god – if she exists (or is it a he? We mustn't be sexist…) – for the enhanced healing abilities those scientists had so thoughtfully given her when they turned her into a part-bird, part-human freak. Just one of those perks you get from being a monster.

Max stepped off the subway a moment before the doors closed, stumbling away from the tracks as the train roared off, blowing a wave of hot air across the platform and whipping her hair around her face.

The lighting was dim along the concrete tunnel of the subway station, and the low ceiling and hoards of noisy, pushing people somehow made Max even more claustrophobic than when she had been on the train, speeding through a long, dark tunnel. She shoved her way toward the stairwell that led upward to fresh air, sunlight, and an open sky, barely suppressing the urge to just snap her wings open and fly the hell outta there.

When Max got to the top of the stairs, she made herself keep going, walking down the busy street, blending in with the crowd. Or at least blending in as much as possible considering the circumstances. In other words, she tried to act like the dark red substance all over her clothes was only dried-up ketchup and the only battle she'd just been in was a food fight. But judging by the [pick a high number OR insert your great grandfather's age here] stares she was getting and the similar number of people who had crossed the street to avoid walking past her, she got the feeling that it wasn't really working.

Then, she got another feeling that was a lot worse. A feeling that made her skin prickle, her eyes dart around the busy street, her feet want to snap kick something, and her wings itch to fly away to somewhere safe or at least somewhere that she could fully defend herself. A feeling that put any member of the Flock on full alert, because it usually meant that someone was trying to kill them. It was the feeling that someone was watching her.

* * *

A loud though muffled crash from somewhere above her was what brought Nudge back to consciousness. As wakefulness flooded through her head, she slowly opened her eyes, and saw…nothing. All there was was blackness. A suffocating, drowning blackness. Nudge felt a surge of claustrophobia as she lay there in the dark, unable to see or move. The complete lack of light pressed down on her, making her eyes ache and her head hurt.

But maybe that wasn't the only reason for her head hurting...memories flashed through Nudge's mind. She remembered people shouting, flashing lights and wailing sirens, and an insanely powerful force that crashed into her, slamming her head against the bars of the cage and sending her into…wait, the bars of the cage? Why was she in a cage? And the people were all in white. Everything was white. White and smelling of disinfectant. The walls, the floors, the doors, the operating tables…wait a second, _operating tables? _Why the heck…_OH FNICK._

As it all suddenly came back in her in a mind-blowing flash of clarity, Nudge's growing claustrophobia quickly accelerated into full-blown panic.

* * *

Angel sat calmly in the cold, empty, enclosed space of the interrogation room, empty but for her and the chair she was seated in, and the two white-coats seated in their own chairs opposite to her. There were restraining straps on the arms and front legs of her chair, and two around the top of the seat back, to wrap around her chin and forehead. But all of the straps were hanging loose, unused. The door of the room, though heavy, soundproof and bulletproof, was unlocked and hanging half-open, and the two scientists were unarmed. They hadn't restrained or imprisoned Angel in any way, hadn't manipulated or baited her in any way to get her to cooperate with them.

They didn't need to. She was on their side.

* * *

The feeling was so strong it was like a pair of eyes were drilling two burning holes through the back of her head, and for the barest fraction of second, Max _almost _froze, _almost _stopped walking, _almost _turned around to see who, or what, was watching her. Then a lifetime of practice in hiding from Erasers kicked in, and she continued her measured pace along the sidewalk, keeping her expression indifferent, facing straight ahead.

Only her eyes darted back and forth around the surrounding buildings, looking for anything – a shadow, a face, a flicker of movement, a color or shape that shouldn't be there – that could give away her attacker's location.

With every muscle tense and ready, every sense straining to detect the enemy, Max felt the shot coming even before it was fired. But even so, it was too late to dodge. She half spun in the direction that the noise had come from, then jerked backwards as the bullet slammed into her hip, sending white-hot pain shooting through her leg and side.

Max stumbled and fell to her knees, looked slowly down to see the spreading red stain of blood soaking through her clothes…and blinked. Why was there no blood? No blood, and no hole or tear in her clothes from the bullet. Max's mind twisted in confusion, too disoriented to register relief that she hadn't been shot.

Then her eyes fell on the dented, destroyed piece of metal on the belt around her waist. Her ESIP, she remembered, her Experimental Specimen Identification Plate, engraved with her expiration date and serial number. Every mutant in the Institute had had one. There was a bar code on the back, which the Assholes in Lab Coats had scanned whenever they circulated test subjects in a new experiment. Max almost laughed, it was so ironic that this last remnant of the 'Institute For Higher Living Hell', as Fang and Iggy had so tastefully christened it, was what had just saved her life.

She stared at the twisted metal plate, bent beyond recognition from the force of the gunshot. In all her time at the Institute, she hadn't been able to bring herself to read the date inscribed on the front, her expiration date, proclaiming the day that she would die. Or rather, from the scientists' point of view, _get to the end of her shelf life._ And now she'd lost her chance to know. Max wasn't sure if she should be regretful or relieved. She felt a mixture of both.

A whistle of movement through the air turned her attention back to her would-be murderer. She rolled to her feet in one fluid motion and sidestepped a moment before the guy landed right where she'd just been standing. The unexpected landing threw him off balance, and he stumbled forward a few paces before he steadied himself, spun around, and brought his gun up to point directly at Max's face.

…except neither Max's face nor the rest of her was there anymore.

The slightest whisper of a downward sweep of feathers was all the warning that the Assassin ever got. The next second his vision flashed white as Max karate chopped the back of his neck, then his world slowly faded to black and he collapsed face down on the pavement.

Maximum Ride slowly straightened up from the unconscious man, painfully retracting her injured wing. She dusted her hands off in the worldwide gesture of a finished task, then turned to face the crowd of shocked and frozen bystanders around her. "All right, Angel, you fnicking traitor." She said in a clear, carrying voice. "You can come out now."

**Mwaaaaaaaah! SUSPENSE! I FRIGGIN LOVE IT! but anyway I feel like absolute crap right now cuz im sick + having a minor fight with my ?boyfriend? (I hope) + its raining outside + my little sister spilled juice all over my Wall of Damon (that's Damon Salvatore, for you sad, deprived losers who don't watch vampire diaries 3) + everything is just generally depressing and crapish and un-nyan-cat-ish….so im just gonna post this and be done with it and go chow down on some cookies cuz im one of those LUCKY, LUCKY people who can eat like a truckload of calories and not get fat, so TAKE THAT SUCKAS!**

**Oooh, and if u review, I might give you one of the cookies….**

…**actually no I wudnt. But i might tell u what flavor it was ;P**


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